Can't Fight This Feeling
by xXTeamFinnickXx
Summary: You've seen them on the stage, now read along as the Glee kids are thrown into the arena. Alliances will form, relationships will be broken, friendships will be betrayed, and of course, twenty-three people will be killed. See all your favorite characters doing things you've never thought they'd do when they're forced to fight for their lives. Rated T for violence and language. R
1. District 1 Reaping

**A/N:** Alright, so I'm trying something a bit different. I'm really not sure why, but for some reason, the idea of a Glee/Hunger Games fic found its way into my messed up head, so I think I'm going to experiment with it and see how it goes. I don't know if it'll work, but hey, I'll try anything once!

A few notes before we begin. A major one is that I will NOT be including characters that haven't been introduced before Season 3 ended, only because Season 4 JUST began, and I don't want to go a certain direction with the character and have them change at some point in the show.

You will get to see every tribute's POV, and the important thing to remember is that most of them don't know each other. They've all grown up in Panem in their own districts. However, keep an eye out for any parallels you notice that go along with the show. You'll definitely find a few in this chapter.

If I decide to continue this (which I most likely will), updates will be every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Please review and tell me what you think, just so I can have some feedback.

Happy reading,

Connor

* * *

**District 1 Reaping**

* * *

_Finn Hudson, District 1 Tribute_

This isn't the first time I've found myself doing this, wondering what I'm doing here in the training center. Is it worth it? Earning the glory that comes with winning the Hunger Games, is it worth killing twenty-three people over? My mind can't decide if it is or not.

But what else can I do? Society's really screwed up these days, apparently. District 1 is a place for Careers, and it's made very clear that if you don't train, you're an outcast. A freak. A loser. I don't know if I could handle being called those things.

_That's why you're here, _I tell myself. _To fit in, to be cool. You want that, don't you? _Of course, the answer is yes.

Still, a part of me wants this all to stop. I try to convince myself that I enjoy this, that I get pleasure out of my training. But how can you lie to yourself? I know that I hate this process. I know that I would much rather be myself than what the district expects of me. And I'm sure I would be if I actually knew who I really was.

The ways of District 1 have blinded me from the time I was born. They've turned me into a Career, and even though I know that's not who I am, I can't find anything else inside of me. I guess I'm in too deep to ever get out.

I should probably be feeling like crap right about now, but strangely, I don't. It's my last year. Come next reaping day, I'll be nineteen and too old to compete, and more importantly, to train. I can finally be whoever I truly am.

Well, that was my mindset before I showed up at the training center this morning, at least.

I leave the building as quickly and quietly as I can, avoiding my peers who are probably in the locker room. I don't think I could tolerate their congratulations or pats on the back or lame jokes today. I just need to get out.

Still in my training shorts and white T-shirt, I push through the front doors of the training center and into the crisp morning air. I can almost taste the fog that surrounds the misty air. A sudden breeze brushes by and sends shivers down my spine, making me want to turn back and grab my jacket from my locker, but I refrain from doing so. After today, I won't be needing it anyway.

My sneakers crunch against the gravel of the road behind the training center as I walk swiftly in the direction of my house. I can feel sweat from my workout dripping off my body as I lose control and break into a steady jog, which eventually becomes a full-out sprint that carries me all the way to my porch. The plank of wood nailed to the second step shifts as it always does, but this time, I don't pause to reposition it. Instead, I desperately shove open my door until it slams into the wall behind it, its rusty hinges rattling on impact.

"Jesus, Finn!" shouts my mother. As I step inside and close the door, I can see her in the kitchen, preparing some breakfast for what's supposed to be my day of celebration. My final reaping. "What's the matter with you? You know we can't afford to replace that thing _again_."

"Mom," I pant, walking through the archway and into my kitchen. Standing before her, my precious, caring mother, I clench my fists and take a deep breath. "He asked."

"He…what?"

"Ken. Mom, Ken asked me."

With a sudden gasp, she drops the pan of eggs she was holding and they go splattering across the floor. Her right hand flies to her mouth as she lets out a muffled scream. "Finn, you can't do it, you can't! It's your last one. Then you're free!"

I can't bear seeing her like this, and I immediately regret my decision to inform her of the news. But I couldn't just leave without telling my own mother what I was doing.

"I have to," I say with pain in my voice. "Mom, what other choice do I have?"

"You could say _no_."

"It's not that easy. Do you know how many other boys would kill, literally, to be in my shoes right now? When your instructor asks you to volunteer, you don't turn him down. Imagine what people would say, Mom. We'd be the laughing stock of the district. Do you want that?"

Her response doesn't surprise me. "If it means having my son alive, then yes."

I struggle with what I'm supposed to say next. We both stand there for several minutes until she throws herself at me, wrapping her arms firmly around my lower ribs. I'm much too tall for her to hug properly anymore.

"Finn, honey," she sobs into my shirt. "Oh Finn, please. Just please come back."

"Of course I will," I assure, resting my head in her frazzled hair. "And when I do this will all be over. We can go on and live a normal life, just like we wanted. We could even get a new house, a nice one, nothing like this old dump."

Instead of answering, she continues to cry, and I can feel her tears seeping through my shirt. We hold this position for much longer than we should until she pulls away, wiping at her eyes with her hands. "You need to shower," she says, her broken heart making itself evident in her shaky voice. "You can't show yourself to the Capitol looking like that. Show them how handsome you really are." She brushes her hand across my cheek and disappears into her bedroom, and I can hear her body hit her mattress seconds later.

For a few moments, I have to lean against the archway to keep myself from toppling over. My mind is buzzing with all sorts of emotions. Self-pity, sorrow, sympathy, determination, anger, depression. I don't know which one to settle on actually feeling.

As soon as I can stand on my own, I drag myself up the stairs and into the shower, where I stay for long over an hour. I can't help but hum the tune of a song I remember hearing as a baby. My mother played it all the time before she was forced to trade her radio for food.

Turning off the water, I run my fingers through my thick black hair as I wrap a towel around myself. Pulling open the bathroom door, I jump when I'm greeted by my mother, leaning against the doorframe.

"You know," she struggles to say, some of her strength returned to her voice. "You've really got a lovely voice."

"Right," I mumble. "I was only humming."

"I mean it Finn. You've got talent."

"Well, singing isn't the kind of talent you can use in this world," I respond, slipping past her and toward my bedroom. "If any of the guys knew that I sang in the shower, I'd be dead."

"Quinn is downstairs," she continues before I can close my door. "She heard about the…good news."

I nod as I begin to close the door. "I'll be down in a few."

I can hear the voices of the two conversing downstairs, occasionally laughing. My mother is a great actress. I can hear the excitement she forces into her voice, the way she and Quinn exchange small talk so casually. You would never be able to tell that on the inside, she's practically dying.

Hastily, I dry off and slip into my tight-fitting black dress shirt and pants, grabbing my belt from my dresser. I step into my nicest pair of dress shoes and wrap my gold tie around my neck as I start down the stairs. I'm not even at the bottom when I'm greeted by Quinn.

"Don't you look handsome," she says with a wink, catching me with a kiss as I fumble with my tie. "Let me," she offers. I drop my hands and let her go to work. Why girls are the only ones able to tie a tie properly, I'll never understand.

"She's right," my mother agrees, looking at me from a distance. "You're going to impress everyone."

"Thanks," I grumble, trying my best not to sound miserable.

Quinn finishes up with my tie and takes a step back. "Perfect," she comments, giving me a once-over. I notice her begin to bite her lip before she turns to my mother. "Mrs. Hudson, thanks for having me, but we've really got to get going. We can't be late today of all days."

My mother nods. "Right, of course. I'll let you two be on your way." Before we leave, however, I have to hug her one more time. "Good luck, Finn," she says quietly. "I love you."

"Love you too, Mom."

She gives me one final squeeze before letting me go, adjusting my shirt a bit. She smiles as Quinn and I step out the door. "I'll be there in a few minutes. I just need to take care of a few more things."

"See you, Mrs. Hudson," Quinn says cheerily, either not noticing or not caring how torn we are right now. She grabs my hand and we begin to make our way to the square. "I wish all guys were like you," she says when we are out of earshot of my mother.

"What do you mean?"

"You're so sweet. The way you treat your mom, it's the relationship ever mother wants to have with her son. I bet the other girls would do anything to have a thoughtful guy like you." Before I can speak, she says quickly, "I'm lucky to have you all to myself."

"I'm not all that special."

"Don't downgrade yourself. You're perfect. The only thing left for you to do is win the Games. Then you'll be truly flawless."

"Yeah, I guess." I don't mention the fact that winning wouldn't make my "flawless." It would put the deaths of twenty-three other teenagers on my head.

Once we sign in at the square, Quinn kisses me on the cheek, making sure we're in the position where the most people could see. "Good luck."

"Thanks."

She disappears into the crowd of girls as I turn to face the boys. As I make my way through the throng of people, I'm greeted by several of my friends, telling me how great I'll do and cracking stupid jokes I don't find funny, but I laugh anyway. I push through them all until I reach an area of younger boys who barely know me, the place where I'll find the most silence.

It's not long before William Schuester takes the stage. Will's been the official escort for all twelve districts ever since the Games began. He has to take a train to the next district immediately after the reaping is over, but he manages to finish all the districts in two days, sometimes three. District 1 is always the first to go down, making us the first tributes to arrive at the Capitol.

"Hello District 1," he says enthusiastically at the microphone in the kind of voice you'd hear an announcer using. "How's everyone doing this morning?" He's awarded with multiple cheers and shouts while everyone else simply applauds. He grins at the response. "Alright, I like it! Who's ready to get down with the reaping. After all, this year's a special one. The fifteenth Games already, can you believe it? It's sort of like the Quinceañera of the Hunger Games." He laughs at what he probably thinks is a joke.

Another round of cheers erupts as Will says casually, "Let's start with the ladies this year." He makes his way to the large glass bowl containing the name of very girl in the district, that is of reaping age of course, and picks one at random, returning to the mic stand quickly.

The square goes silent as he reads the name clearly. "Do we have a Marti Adler?" Everyone claps as a younger girl, probably around the age of fifteen, emerges from the crowd, obviously a little shaken up, but not scared in the slightest.

That's when I hear a familiar voice say smoothly, "I volunteer." It's not until the bubbly blonde reaches the stage that I realize who it is.

"Excellent! And who might you be?"

"My name is Quinn Fabray."

* * *

_Quinn Fabray, District 1 Tribute_

The crowd's reaction is perfect. Several people chant my name while a few boys whistle loudly. I guess they have every reason to. I mean, my slim white dress doesn't exactly cover up much of my body. Of course, I could have chosen something much less revealing to wear, but this is the type of thing the Capitol likes. Sexy and dangerous.

However, my favorite face in the crowd is that of Finn Hudson's. He stares at me in shock. He wasn't expecting me to volunteer, not after finding out that he was going into the arena. But it had to be done. I've been planning this longer than he's even been training, and if I didn't go through with it, Daddy would be so ashamed.

"Well, Miss Fabray," Will says charmingly as he kisses my hand. "I wish you luck in the arena. Are you ready to find out who your district partner will be?"

"No need," I say with a smile. I pick out Finn in the crowd (which isn't hard considering how tall he is) and motion for him to come forward. "Come on up, Finny."

Will looks at me a little strangely as Finn steps forward. "Uh, Quinn-"

"Relax," I interrupt. "He was going to volunteer anyway. Besides, don't you have to get to the next district soon?"

Shrugging, Schuester allows him to come up and stand beside me. As he's closing the ceremony, I grip Finn's hand. He takes that as an opportunity to lean down and whisper in my ear.

"What the hell are you doing Quinn," he spits, fire in his voice.

"Look," I answer calmly, making sure not to lose my composure while being filmed. "Ken told you to volunteer today, right? What, you think the girls don't go through this, too? It just so happens that Sue wanted me to go in this year."

"Well you could have refused."

"You could've, too."

"But I didn't know-"

"Tributes?" Schuester asks. "Did you hear me? I said you can shake hands now."

"Chill, Finn," I say with an innocent grin as I turn to face him. "We'll do this together." I stand up on my toes and instead of shaking his hand, kiss him on the cheek. The crowd goes wild as Finn catches on to the act and scoops me up in his arms and carries me toward the justice building.

Unfortunately, we're not permitted to say our goodbyes in the same room, so Finn drops me in front of a door which we were led to by a Peacekeeper. "Tell your mom I'll try and keep you safe," I say with a flirtatious wink.

The Peacekeeper opens the door for me and lets me inside, closing it softly behind me. I'm a little surprised to see that my visitors are already here.

"Mom, Dad," I say crisply, trying to sound like the professional young lady they want me to be. Under normal circumstances, they'd reply with their own form of etiquette, but today, they rush over in tears. My mother is the first to reach me, and she wraps me in a bone-crushing hug while also trying not to wrinkle either of our dresses.

My family isn't normal by a long shot. Rumor has it that my great grandfather opened up the very first jewelry store in the district, just after Panem was split into all thirteen. Since then, the business and money has been passed down to the next generation, making our family one of the wealthiest and most powerful in District 1. My father even gets to visit the Capitol sometimes.

"I'm so proud of you, sweetie!" my mother cries. "That was so brave of you. We'll finally get to see all that training pay off!"

"Mom," I gasp. "I need to breathe."

"Right!" She releases her grip on me and dabs at her eyes with a handkerchief. "I'm sorry sweetie, I just can't believe you went through with it. You're really a true Fabray, let me tell you. You're going to bring great honor to your family, young lady."

I smirk, imitating my mother almost perfectly. "That's the plan."

"Come here, kitten," my father interrupts, puling me close into a firm, yet relaxed hug that makes me feel safe. My smile widens at the sound of his nickname for me. Something in his voice always makes me happy. It calms me down.

"I love you Daddy," I say out of nowhere, a single tear falling onto his dark brown jacket.

"I love you too," he answers in a low, raspy voice. "More than anything."

After a few moments, we all take a seat on the couch. "Listen Quinn, we don't have much time, so let's get this over with." I nod, knowing where this is going. "Don't you worry a bit about getting supplies. You'll be with the Careers, so they'll get you all the food and water you need. Don't waste your time with that. As soon as that gong goes off, you need to get yourself to a knife, you hear? When you need it, you know we'll have no problems sending some sponsor money to your mentor. We'll keep you taken care of, just focus on the killing, okay?"

"I've got it, Daddy," I say.

Seconds later, a Peacekeeper comes in to inform us that my parents' time is up. They each hug me once more. Just before they disappear behind the door, I stand and call after them, "I'll be back before you know it."

Falling back into the couch, I mess with my hair for a moment, waiting for my next visitor. As soon as the door slams open, I know exactly who it is.

"Quinn Fabray," she says in a powerful voice. "Little Miss Quinn Fabray. I'm gonna be honest, I didn't think you had it in you."

Rolling my eyes, I look up and spit, "Thanks for the support, Sue."

"Listen, Tits McGee," she growls. "I _am_ supporting you. After all, who's been training you all these years?"

"Thanks," I manage to say. "I guess…I don't know, this may be our last time together. You think you could drop the insults?"

"I will as soon as you get all thoughts of getting it on with the Incredible Hulk out of your mind."

"Finn?"

"Quinn, you need to focus. You can't let yourself get distracted by that boy. He'll only steer you away from your goal. I mean, only one of you is coming out of this anyway."

Honestly, I hadn't thought about what to do with Finn. Hunger Games or not, we're still dating, and I still love him. What if it comes down to the two of us?

"You're right," I say.

"You know what you have to do," Sue says as she starts for the door. "Use that boy until you've sucked every ounce of usefulness he's got right out of his saggy little manboobs."

I nod. "Okay."

"Good luck in there, kiddo. You might just pull this off."

"Thanks, Sue."

With that, Sue Sylvester is gone. Before the Peacekeeper outside can close the door, I call, "Excuse me? Hi. Could you do me a favor and not let anyone else in? Just, uh, call Finn down if he's done talking to his mom."

Raising his eyebrows, the man says, "I don't know if I-"

"Oh, I'm sorry, it's fine." I cut in. "I'll just go ask my _father_ to-"

The look of terror on the Peacekeeper's face is priceless. "What? N-no! I'll get him right away, just sit tight."

Sweetly, I answer, "Thank you very much!"

And just like that, Finn is in front of me, the door closed behind him. Man, that guy moves fast.

"Hi Finny."

He brushes his fingers through his hair in the cute, quick motion he always does and sits down next to me. "You know, I still think you're insane."

"I know. I don't care."

He laughs, and I join him. He wraps his arm around my shoulder and turns to face me. After glancing at my lips for a second, he leans in and kisses me passionately, pulling back only long enough to say, "Dear God, Quinn, what have we gotten ourselves in to?"

Grabbing his shirt, I lie down on my back and pull him close to my face. "I don't know, babe. But whatever happens, we're going to stick together, okay?"

"Of course."

I grin and he kisses me again. Don't get me wrong, I'm completely in love with the kid, but let's face it. Only one person can come out of this alive. As much as I hate to say it, Finn Hudson is going down.


	2. District 2 Reaping

**A/N:** Hey guys!

Welp, due to the overwhelming amount of views and visitors this story has gotten, along with a few favorites and alerts, I've decided to continue the story.

Remember, reviews are appreciated and loved, and I have anons turned on, so go ahead and tell me what you think even if you don't have an account. I don't think I mentioned this, but I will reply to all my reviews unless you state that you'd rather I didn't, just to let you all know that I truly do take the time to read them all and take them into consideration.

I also forgot to bring this up, but feel free to follow me on Tumblr at www fireferret-swag tumblr com (just put periods where the spaces are). That would be awesome!

Anyway, here's District 2! A few more parallels (pretty obvious ones), so I hope you enjoy!

Happy reading,

Connor

**EDIT: **I forgot to mention, I'm going to be extremely busy for the rest of the school year considering I stay after school most days until at least 7'o'clock, so this week I probably won't have District 3 up Wednesday. You can expect the next update either Thursday or Friday. Thanks for your patience!

* * *

**District 2 Reaping**

* * *

_Blaine Anderson, District 2 Tribute_

Another solid jab earns me the sweet sound of chains jangling above my head. After pausing a moment to wipe my brow with my arm, I swing again, rattling the punching bag even harder. It's still early, and I'm probably disturbing Cooper who's trying to sleep upstairs, but I really couldn't care less.

"Damn Cooper," I mutter as I strike again. Sometimes I like to imagine my brother is the punching bag. It makes me hit twice as hard.

Boxing is one of the only ways I have to express my anger. If I didn't have my own personal gym in my basement, I would probably go insane. It's not your traditional form of training here in District 2, but hey, it's what I enjoy. I'd never be caught dead in one of those professional training centers. After all, that's where Cooper got all his experience.

Before they died, my parents invested every dime they had into Cooper's training for the Games. Why they never did the same for me, I don't know, but he always got all the attention. Then, three years ago, he volunteered and, unfortunately, came home alive. Ever since then, he's been getting even more praise, something I didn't think possible. Not many people even know or care about his younger brother. If it's not about Cooper, it doesn't matter.

This year, I'm going to change all that. I'm going to show the district that he isn't the only Anderson on the planet. I'm a person too, and I deserve to be treated as such.

Traditionally, they don't let anyone volunteer unless they're eighteen, but I'm not your traditional Career. Sure, I might be crushing the dreams of whatever guy was selected to compete this year, but I have to do this. Besides, I'm only a year under the preferred age. That shouldn't matter too much.

I slam my fist frustratingly into the bag a few more times as the sweat begins to pour off my face, so much that it's forming a puddle at my feet. After several minutes, I hear a door steadily open upstairs. The lights above illuminate the previously dark room and bare feet begin to jog down the creaky basement stairs.

"Blaine," he says in a tired, irritated voice. "It's five in the morning. I don't know if your realize this, but sleep is kind of essential."

"Not tired," I spit, hitting the bag again.

I don't waste time looking at him, but I can hear Cooper sigh and sit down on the bottom step. I imagine he's burying his head in his hands, what he normally does when he's disappointed in me. Needless to say, he's doing that most of the time we're in the same room together.

"You're an idiot, you know that?"

"Why?"

"You think you stand a chance in there, Blaine? You really think you can win this?"

I grunt and scowl at him as if he can see my turned face. "You did."

Fed up with not talking to his face, I turn on my heels and feel the punching bag thump against my bare back as it rocks back and forth. As I suspected, his head is in his hands and his foot is tapping against the floor impatiently.

"Blaine, let me tell you a little something about the arena," he says, lifting his head up to look me in the eye. His untidy, dark brown hair is almost identical to my own, but he got the perfect blue eyes from my father while I was stuck with my mother's brown ones. "It's hell in there, kid. I barely made it out alive. If I could go back and stop myself from volunteering, believe me, I would."

"But you can't."

"But I _would_," he says venomously, narrowing his eyes at me. "It's not worth it. You'll be scarred for life."

"You just don't think I can do it."

"You're right," he continues harshly. "I don't."

We glare at each other for a few moments before he stands and rubs the back of his head, yawning deeply. "Alright, fine," he concludes. "Do what you want. But I swear, if you go through with this and manage to come back, I'll kill you myself." He walks steadily back up the stairs, leaving me alone with my gym equipment.

Angrily, I spin around and slam my fist into the bag one final time before deciding to start getting ready. I have the reaping in only a few hours.

Beginning to unwrap the bandages around my hand, I walk silently over to the door and begin my ascent, hoping I don't run into Cooper on the way to the bathroom. It's bad enough I'm going to have to deal with him as my mentor.

Thankfully, I reach the shower without being interrupted and rinse myself off. I dress myself in an off-white, short-sleeved shirt and button it to the top. I tuck that into my tan khakis and begin to fasten my blood-red bowtie around my neck. I slip out the door, releasing the shower's steam into the hallway, and hurry down the stairs.

Of course, there's no breakfast waiting for me in the kitchen. Neither Cooper nor I actually cook, so we almost never eat at home. I find my dress shoes in the corner of the room and step into them, rushing to the front door. I'm almost there when I'm stopped by his voice.

"Blaine," he says firmly behind me. I turn my head slightly to see that he's in his reaping outfit as well. "Where are you going? You still have almost two hours."

"To get breakfast." I don't offer to buy him anything, and he doesn't request it. So with that, I leave, making sure to slam the door behind me.

Outside, the streets are filled with Careers returning from the training center, mothers fetching outfits off the clotheslines, and children of reaping age wandering around with friends, wondering what will happen in the next few hours. I walk briskly down the cobblestone road of the Victor's Village until I reach the main road that leads into town. I step onto the sidewalk as a car rushes by. Not many people in the district have one of them, so I assume it's either a person from the Capitol or someone extremely wealthy.

The sidewalk gets more and more crowded the closer I get to town until I find myself shoving past people and avoiding getting slammed into just to keep moving. The walk from the bakery to the square is long enough, and I don't need to be kept waiting by traffic.

Most businesses are closed on the day of the reaping, but never the bakery. This is one of their busiest times of the year. Families often buy things a little more expensive than they normally would and eat them after the reaping to celebrate their child surviving another year. District 2 only started training Careers about eight years ago, so not everyone is guaranteed to be safe if they happen to be reaped.

I reach the bakery quickly and am greeted by a short line, but it doesn't take long for me to get to the front.

"Yes?" asks the man at the register.

"Hi. Uh, can I have a blueberry bagel and…what's that?" I point at the strange looking machine in the back corner of the shop.

"Oh!" says the cashier excitedly. "It was a gift from the Capitol. Just came in this morning. I guess they're warming up to us. I mean, just look at all the victors we've been brining in lately!"

"Yeah, great. But what is it?"

"Right," he says, shaking his head. "It makes this drink called coffee. It's supposed to give you energy or something. They drink it all the time in the Capitol."

"Alright then," I say, deciding I could use all the energy I can get today. "I'll have one of them too."

The man whips up some coffee for me and adds several things to it. I don't bother asking what they are. I give him some of Cooper's victor money and grab my order.

As I make my way to the reaping, I munch on my bagel and take a sip of my coffee. It burns my tongue at first, and the taste is kind of strong, but after a few moments, something tells me to keep drinking. I let it cool off and take another sip, my taste buds beginning to like what they're getting.

I grin for a second, but then I realize where my feet have carried me. I look up and notice that I've arrived at the town square. People from the Capitol are rushing around, trying to get things ready at the last minute. I gulp down a taste of fear as I realize what I'm about to do. In less than an hour, I'll officially be a tribute in the fifteenth annual Hunger Games.

* * *

_Rachel Berry, District 2 Tribute_

"Dad, Dad, I can handle this," I say confidently to my fathers as they prepare to send me into the town square for what is finally going to be my last reaping. "I'm not a kid anymore. I can do this on my own." I shoot them a reassuring smile.

After exchanging glances, my father says calmly, "Alright, good luck in there, Rachel." As I begin to walk away, I think I can hear one of them sniffling.

"Really!" I assure, throwing my head over my shoulder one last time. "I'm alright."

Smoothing out my baby blue dress, I sign in at the front desk and step into the square, already bustling with the other potential tributes. As I walk proudly down the aisle towards the section for eighteen-year-old girls, I notice several people staring at me, snickering even. I don't pay them any mind, however. They're jealous. They know my future is looking brighter than theirs, and they envy me.

Both of my fathers happen to be very high-ranking Peacekeepers here in District 2. They often travel to the other districts and sometimes the Capitol. I've even been to District 6 myself, but I must say, I prefer life here much more than over there.

Anyway, my fathers are some very influential people. They've recognized my talent from a young age. I was born to be famous. Not many people in Panem have what I've got, and those who do are always from the Capitol. That makes me one-of-a-kind. The plan from the very start was to get me to the Capitol after I could no longer be reaped, something my fathers would surely have no issue doing, and get started on finding some big-time producer. That can only be accomplished in the Capitol, considering the only form of "entertainment" the districts have access to is watching the Games.

Keeping my head held high, I walk briskly to the front of the crowd and stand alone, watching the stage with desire. If it weren't for the occasion, I'd love to climb those stairs and show off my voice to all of District 2.

I wait impatiently, tapping my foot rapidly and humming a soft tune under my breath until William Schuester takes the stage. Everyone applauds. I feel bad for the guy. He's just arrived from District 1 and is going to have to travel to the other ten districts later. It's got to be exhausting.

"How's everyone doing this fine morning?" he asks in a casual voice. Everyone screams responses at once, cheering and chanting, ready to get things started. "Fantastic!" he continues. "Are we ready to pick the lucky young lady?"

_This is it,_ I think. _You're last year, Rachel. Then, you're on your way to stardom._

I straighten my posture and place my hands firmly on my hips as Schuester makes his way over to the girls' reaping bowl. I can feel my muscles tense up, but I can't worry too much. It's a proven fact that worrying causes stress which in turn causes acne, and I can't have that. Besides, I've got no tesserae or anything, and odds are-

"Rachel Berry!"

I glance around quickly, trying to determine who just called me. One of my fathers? No, they're far out of earshot. And none of my peers would want to be caught dead calling my name. Well then who-

"Rachel Berry? Are you out there? Come on up."

Finally realizing the truth of the situation, I lift my head up until my gaze meets the escort's. He must realize that our eye contact means I'm the tribute he's called and smiles. "Is that you, Rachel? Let's not keep everyone waiting."

Swallowing my fear, I step out into the aisle and walk the short distance to the steps, remaining completely calm. Once someone volunteers, it'll just do wonders for my fame. People will look back at how I was almost thrown into the Games but was saved at the last minute.

I stand beside William Schuester and wait patiently as he asks, "Do we have any volunteers?" After a few seconds of silence, he decides to move on. "Great!" he says cheerily. "Time for the boys."

"What?" I ask, appalled. "You've got to be joking. Where's the volunteer?"

"Luckily for you Rachel, there isn't one."

"No," I say clearly. "There has to be a volunteer. There's _always_ a volunteer." Schuester begins to walk away, but I grab his arm viciously. He glares at me strangely and rips his arm free of my grasp, leaving me alone in front of the crowd as he searches for the boy's name.

Plucking a slip of paper from the bottom of the bowl, he says clearly, "Ian Falchuk!"

The second Ian begins his journey to the stage, a low voice calls, "I volunteer."

_Lucky you, Ian, _I think bitterly. He probably doesn't even have a future worth saving like I do, and _he_ gets saved?

Ian is replaced with a short, dark-haired boy with toned muscles and dark brown eyes. He walks calmly to the stage, but he seems to have a sort of angry vibe about him.

"Your name?" asks Schuester as the boy reaches the stage.

Clearing his throat, the volunteer says, "Blaine Anderson."

"_Anderson_?" our escort repeats, turning his head to the back of the stage where this year's mentor sits, whose head is buried in his hands. "As in Cooper Anderson's brother?"

"No," Blaine says viciously, grinding his teeth. "As in me, Blaine Anderson."

Schuester glances quizzically at Blaine, but decides to spare himself the embarrassment of questioning the boy further. "Alright then, _Blaine_," he continues. "You may shake hands with Rachel."

Blaine outstretches his hand, but refuses to make eye contact with me. I don't take it. "This is ridiculous," I mutter, storming into the justice building. I'm not standing for this. I am _not_ going into the Hunger Games.

A Peacekeeper runs to catch up with me to show me where I'm to wait for visitors. He pulls open a door to my left and I step inside, walking immediately over to the couch. I take a seat and cross my legs. It's not long before my fathers rush in.

"Rachel," my dad says. "Rachel, how could this happen to you? What are we going to do about the plan?"

"Relax, Dad," I say, rolling my eyes. "Just pull some strings and get me out of this. You can do that, right?"

My fathers exchange a look, but neither responds.

"Wait. You mean there really isn't anything you can do?"

"Sweetie, we have all sorts of power here in District 2," my other dad says. "But we can't do anything about the Capitol. They can't be messed with."

My insides begin to twist and turn as I take in his words. This means I'm really going into the Hunger Games. My head begins to hurt and my vision gets blurry as I grip my dad's arm for support. _Calm down Rachel, _I scold myself. _You need to stay calm._

"Okay," I say quietly. "Okay. This isn't that bad. It's an opportunity." My fathers look up at me questioningly. "This'll get me some extra screen time, right? I'll just play it safe and do this carefully until I win. Then I'll be known as the victor of the Hunger Games _and_ the most talented person to ever hit the Capitol."

My dads look at each other for a moment before smiling. "That's our little girl," they say in unison, both reaching to hug me at the same time.

After several more moments, a raspy voice interrupts us. "Time's up."

My fathers hold back their tears long enough to make it to the door. Suddenly, one of them whirls around and rushes back to me with an alert expression on his face.

"Rachel." he says quickly. "I almost forgot. We got you a token." He hands me a small pin in the shape of a gold star. "For good luck."

"What is it?"

"We were going to give it to you later, as a gift to starting your new life as a performer."

I smile and stand to give him one last hug before he leaves. As the door is being closed by the Peacekeeper, my father shouts, "Remember Rachel, you'll always be our shining star!"


	3. District 3 Reaping

**A/N: **Hey readers! So sorry this update didn't come as soon as I was hoping it would, but as I said before, I'm extremely busy as of late. I'm trying my hardest to write whenever I can, but it's getting really difficult.

Seeing as my life is pretty hectic right now, I might have to slow my update schedule down to just Mondays and Fridays, but hopefully that won't happen. Just be aware that I might not get the chance to update on schedule every time.

Anyway, I'd like to thank you all for reviewing! I love reviews. A lot. Like I said, I'll be replying to all my reviews, unless you ask me not to, so you know that I really take them all into consideration. I'd also like to thank you for the continuous favorites and follows. They mean a lot!

Now finally, here's Monday's update, District 3! Expect District 4 to be up on Friday, but maybe I'll surprise you and finish it by Wednesday. Don't forget to review!

Happy Reading,

Connor

* * *

**District 3 Reaping**

* * *

_Sebastian Smythe, District 3 Tribute_

The uneven slabs of cement that make up the sidewalk of my street make escaping difficult, tripping me up with every frantic step I take. I nearly drop my loot in the confusion of the chase, thankfully catching it before it can hit the ground. The angry shouts of citizens can be heard behind me. There's got to be at least fifteen of them, probably more.

My body nearly falls to the side as I make a sharp turn to bound up the stairs to my narrow, yet deep house. I push my way inside, slamming and locking the door before anyone can follow me in.

"Dad!" I shout. "You'd better get out here."

I don't hear a response other than my victims pounding on the door, shouting profanities at me. Glancing around, I quickly pull my dad's recliner in front of the door and rush up the stairs to the attic.

"Dad?" I ask, walking inside. Not here either. I quietly close the door anyway. Maybe I can just hang up here for a while until they all leave. After all, we have to be at the reaping in a few hours. They can't wait around that long, can they?

Taking a well-earned breath, I lean against the wall of the attic and slump down into a sitting position. I weigh the bag of money in my hands for a few minutes, satisfied with my work. I'd hate to be forced to give it all back to the gullible citizens of District 3 so soon. It's not my fault they fell for the scam.

After a while of impatiently drumming my fingers against the cold, wooden floor and still no sign of my father, who also happens to be my boss, I decide to head downstairs and see if he's returned through the back entrance. A poor decision on my part.

Someone on the street below must see me stand up through the window, because the next thing I know, I'm diving for cover as a brick crashes through the glass. I wince as several shards rain down on me, tearing open my skin in various places. "Son of a bitch," I mutter. "Alright, I'm coming!" I shout out the window to the people on the street. I stash the bag of coin under a pile of dusty, torn blankets in the corner and slip out the attic door.

Jogging down the stairs, I rub my forehead stressfully before shoving the recliner out of the way and pulling open the front door a crack. Putting on an obviously fake smile, I say smoothly to the angry crowd before me, "May I help you?"

A short, brawny man who looks to be in his forties steps forward, out of the throng of people, and says, "You're a phony!"

Seeing as it would be pretty hard to hide it, I shrug and respond, "What was your first clue?"

The man's plump face burns brighter than a fire as he clenches his fists and booms, "We want out money back! You said this stuff would cure us! You said we'd be better in a matter of hours."

"You will," is my answer. "Dude, it's a cold. It'll pass. It's not my fault you decided to buy my elixir."

"You mean your tinted water?"

"Yeah, that. Either way, no crime was committed. I offered you a piece of merchandise, and you paid for it. That's how the world works."

"But-"

"But nothing. Next time, don't be so careless. Have a nice day." I close the door for a second time. I brace my back against it and wait. The defeated grunts my customers get farther and farther away until I can't hear them anymore. I take a deep breath and release it in a hearty sigh, glad I've finally gotten rid of them. Now I've just got to get the window fixed before my dad notices it.

As if on cue, my ears pick up on the back door flying open. I can hear the soles of my father's shoes hit the tile floor of our kitchen as he locks the door behind him. "Breakfast," he calls.

I jog into the kitchen and notice the large bag of food sitting on the table. My dad helps himself to a freshly baked roll as I begin cooking some eggs and bacon on the stove. "How'd you manage to get these?" I ask quietly.

"Told the butcher there was some severe illness spreading between the chickens and pigs. Traded the baker some eggs for the bread."

"Nice one," I comment. "Juice?"

"There's some in the fridge."

I grin as I finish cooking us some breakfast. Sliding a plate across the table to my dad, I take my own helping and begin to scarf it down.

You would think the life of a con-man would be pretty bad. Unreliable income, not well-liked, whatever. But in reality, it's one of the best lifestyles I've seen so far. I mean, District 3 is completely overpopulated, giving us plenty of unsuspecting people to pull a fast one on. We never run out of clients. We feast like kings everyday and our living conditions are better than what most other families are dealing with.

Do I feel bad about constantly lying to people, stealing their money? Not in the slightest. If we didn't, we wouldn't be alive.

"Sebastian," my father says, causing me to look up. "Don't you have to be at the square?"

I glance at the clock on the wall. "Not for another hour. Why?"

"I want you to get their early. See if you can get us a bit of coin, huh?"

I catch on almost immediately and share my father's wicked smirk. "Right."

The old man stands and sweeps away my empty plate. "I've laid some clothes out for you in your room. I'll meet you at the justice building after the reaping to see what you've got, okay?"

"Got it."

I hurriedly jog to my room and catch sight of the "clothes" he's chosen for me. I scowl for a moment, but remind myself of all the money we'll be rolling in afterwards. On reaping day, people are unnaturally sympathetic. They're more than willing to give a little to the less fortunate. Imagine what they'd do if they saw a poor, starving boy begging for money by the square.

Quickly, I slip into the tattered khaki pants and dark brown dress shoes, ones with large patches of missing leather, leaving my chest bare. I guess my naturally skinny physique proves to be an advantage here. Now that I think about it, the cuts I earned earlier from the shattered window adds even more to my character. I make an effort to mess up my neat, light brown hair until it looks like I've been sleeping in a sewer for weeks. When I'm all finished, I grab a metal mug from the kitchen and rush outside, covering my pale body in dirt.

And then, the act begins.

I hobble down to the square, which isn't far from my house, clutching my stomach, sucking it in so it seems like it's starving for anything to eat. Before I even set up my site at the square, a man must notice my mug and drops a coin into it. I shoot him a pathetic look of thanks before he turns his back and I snigger.

Plenty of people are at the site of the reaping once I arrive, the perfect hunting ground. I sign my name at the front desk and limp into the busiest part of the event. Pretending to collapse, I hit the cold ground and crawl up against a wall, holding my mug out weakly. Several people pass me before a few begin to take pity. Before I know it, the change is pouring in.

The last person to donate before the reaping actually begins is a petite, oriental girl, who appears to be a year or two younger than me. She digs into the pocket of her green, floral dress and drops four silver coins into my mug, more than anyone else has so far.

* * *

_Sunshine Corazon, District 3 Tribute_

"Sunshine, sweetie, come on."

My mother grabs my hand, forcing me along. I breathe a sigh of relief. Thankfully, neither of my parents caught me spending most of my savings on that poor, starving boy by the justice building. If they did, I'd be in so much trouble. We're struggling as it is. They wouldn't want me handing out my money like that.

But how could I resist? We may be a little poor, but that boy back there has it a lot worse. It doesn't even look like he has a home.

My mother stops walking, causing me to run into her from behind. My father grabs both our arms, keeping us from falling over.

My parents sign me in, just like they have been for the past four years. They can't even let me do _that_ by myself. Really, they don't let me do _anything_ by myself. They spoil me as much as a family with virtually nothing to their name can. And I absolutely hate it. Why can't they just let me grow up? I'm sixteen for crying out loud, not seven.

"Now Sunshine," my father says, stooping down so he can look me in the eyes, resting a hand on my shoulder. I'm quite short for my age, which makes things difficult for my abnormally tall dad. "I know you've got a bit more tesserae this year, but don't worry. Everything will work out fine, okay? We don't need to fret or be scared or-"

"Dad."

"Just go in there with confidence and you'll be back at home with us in no time. We can have a big dinner to celebrate-"

"_Dad_."

"I'll even go buy us all some of that homemade pudding from the baker you love so much for dessert and we can-"

"_Dad_!" He looks at me with shock on his face. My mother giggles. "You're the one worrying. I'll be fine, okay?"

He nods, taking control of himself again. "Right. You'll be fine. Okay. Good luck, sweetie." He takes his hand off my shoulder and lets my mother kiss me on the forehead before I make my way into the vast crowd of potential tributes.

In no more than a few seconds, William Schuester, fresh off the train from District 2, begins his speech about the "glory" of the Games. Immediately, I wish I hadn't left my parents. My heart starts pounding and I suddenly notice my claustrophobia kicking in, being surrounded by hundreds of other girls. I find it hard to breathe by the time Schuester says, "Shall we start with the girls?"

I close my eyes in hopes that I can catch a break and take some time to think. I work out the odds in my head to reassure myself that I can't possibly be chosen, it just won't happen. But I suppose that's what everyone's thinking, isn't it. And here in District 3, we don't have Careers to volunteer if things don't go our way.

Right about now, I wish we did.

"Sunshine Corazon!"

I exhale so quickly that I think I might throw up. A few of the girls around me must realize that I'm Sunshine and move away, creating a path to the aisle that runs down the middle of the crowd, separating the boys and girls. I'm eager to take it and rush out into the open, where I should feel even more anxious or scared, but instead I calm down almost instantly. Now that I'm not in as tight a space, I can finally think.

_You'll be fine, Sunshine,_ I tell myself. _Play it cool. Look nice for the cameras._

But it's much harder than I initially thought. Who knew getting reaped would make you feel so…hopeless? I nearly fall on my face when I stumble up the stairs and the edge of my short dress gets caught on Scheuster's mic stand as I pass it. Man, do I look awkward.

I ignore my escort's remarks of congratulations and focus on finding my parents in the crowd. I can't seem to locate them, but in a way, I'm thankful. I really don't want to see the looks on their faces right now.

Before I know it, it's time to pick the boy, and I find myself wishing and hoping it's someone weak. At least that would increase my odds of coming home, right?

"Can I have a…Sebastian Smythe?" Schuester announces. He scans the crowd eagerly, but his face drops when he sees the looks of Sebastian, who turns out to be the same starving boy I donated four silver coins to earlier.

_Well, he definitely looks weak, _I can't help but think.

But when he takes the stage, I suddenly get a new feeling about him. His aura…it kind of scares me a little. I find myself feeling totally outmatched the instant he glares into my narrowed eyes.

Let's just say I'm extremely relieved when I'm sent to the justice building.

Patiently, I sit in the nicely furnished room, waiting for my parents to show up. I know they'll be my only visitors. They're the only real family I have, after all, and not many kids want to make friends with the poor, weird, Asian girl. Not that I mind. I was never really a people person anyway. I'd much rather do my own thing.

Suddenly, the door flies open and my parents come scrambling in, my father first. They both wrap me in a tight hug. They spend a large amount of time sobbing into my dress, not letting me hear what they're actually saying. Seeing as this could possibly be the last time I'll ever get to talk to them, I don't want it going like this.

"Guys," I say, trying to wiggle out of their embrace. "Guys! Come on, get it together!" I squeeze out of the Sunshine-sandwich and stare at both of them. "Look, face it, I'm going into that arena. Can we please spend our goodbyes a little more…I don't know, maturely?"

They glance at each other before simultaneously wiping the tears out of their eyes. My mother speaks up. "Okay, fine what do you want to talk about?"

That's when it hits me. I don't know. They've never asked me that question before. I don't really have anything to talk to my parents about at all.

My abnormally keen hearing kicks in and I sense a Peacekeeper coming down the hall, probably to take my parents away, so I quickly say, "I just want you both to know that I love you so much. You did everything you could. You're the best parents I could have ever asked for."

We share another hug, but thankfully, this one doesn't include hysterical sobbing. My senses prove to have been correct as a man in all white comes into the room to escort them away. I watch as another tear falls from my mother's eye and they disappear.

I fall down onto the large sofa in the middle of the room, burying my head in my hands. I'm fully aware of how we barely even mentioned the Games in our final goodbyes, and I know the reason. Everyone knows what's going to happen in that arena. I don't even stand a chance. I'm going to die, and I'm going to die soon.


End file.
